


A Piece of Blue Sky

by the_7th_swan



Category: NCIS
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, BAMF Tony, Kidnapping, M/M, No Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Slash, Stillwater, Supernatural Elements, Swearing, time travel (sorta), young Gibbs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2019399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_7th_swan/pseuds/the_7th_swan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony is shot in action, he's surprised to find himself stuck somewhere between life and death. Which would be cause for concern even without a seven year old Leroy Jethro Gibbs for company. As Tony is plagued by questions of his own existence, Leroy finds himself in desperate need for help. Can Tony get them home safely?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I wrote a time travel fic. Well, sort of time travel. You'll see.

_There are two things I know for sure:_  
 _The first is that I'd die for you.  
_ _The second is that I love you, deeply and with everything that I am. Because no matter where or when I meet you in this life, you touch me more than anyone I've ever met._

**Prologue**

 

The sound of gunfire pierced the air. Footsteps slammed against concrete as voices, harsh and desperate, filled the sky with noise. Far, far away, an ambulance began to sound.

"DiNozzo? DiNozzo, stay with me here."

Tony blinked. He didn't understand what was happening. His head was screaming for attention and, dumbly, Tony raised a hand to it. It came away wet.

"DiNozzo, god damn it,  _focus_."

Focus? On what? All there was... was pain. Pain and confusion and... he couldn't think. He couldn't move. The whole world was spinning chaotically around him.

Wasn't he supposed to be doing something?

He wasn't sure. Nothing was certain. And everyone was shouting, raising their voices, crying out. Had he done something wrong?

"Tony... please."

Tony's eyes slipped closed.

 _ **  
**_*~*~*~*~* __ **  
**TBC...  
*~*~*~*~*


	2. Genisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning and possible triggers can be found in the end notes. Otherwise, you're good to go! Enjoy!

_There are many beginnings_  
 _They start every day_  
 _The creep up and jump up_  
 _And lead you astray_  
 _There are a thousand stories_  
 _A thousand reasons why_  
 _A thousand different pages_  
 _A hundred different eyes_  
 _There are many triggers_  
 _Chaotic, tragic and fun_  
 _There are ways to begin a story  
_ _And this... well, this is one_

**Chapter One: Genesis**

 

A clock kept time on the wall, the steady  _tick-tock_  keeping pace with Tony's heart. Outside, traffic blustered, urgent but meaningless. More locally, Tony could make out the faint sound of voices talking and a television humming. Underneath it all was a slight wheeze, the unmistakable sign of a body drawing breath.

He was in a hotel room.

Considering Tony distinctly remembered a bullet hitting him, he was thrown off by the abrupt change in scenery.

Was he dead?

If he was, a dingy hotel room was a sure hallmark that he'd gone to hell. The devil was more devious than most realized if hell was a derelict room –it only needed fungus covered bathroom tiles and lukewarm water to complete the image.

Shuddering at the thought, Tony turned to examine the room in question. The pain was peeling, the furniture was falling apart and everything seemed so out of date that it was appalling.

There also appeared to be a child on the bed.

He was tiny, which is perhaps why Tony hadn't noticed him. He was sleeping deeply, completely oblivious to Tony's presence. He seemed utterly unharmed.

But he was in a hotel room, alone and sleeping on a bed so filthy it made Tony grimace. Stranger still, he wasn't wearing his pyjamas –was, in fact, even wearing shoes.

It seemed more than a bit hinky, as Abby would say. Then again, the last thing Tony remembered was blinding pain as a bullet struck him. Really, a sleeping child was the least of their worries.

The child, perhaps feeling Tony's eyes on him, let loose a small sound and rolled over in his sleep, baring his face for Tony's appraisal. Tony took the opportunity by both hands, raking his eyes over the child's features carefully, a slow frown overtaking him as he did. For, no matter how he strained his memory, the face wasn't one he recognised.

Surely he wasn't dreaming, then? Could you dream of someone you'd never met? Tony, who didn't figure himself creative enough to dream this whole situation up, was doubtful.

The child stirred further. He looked pretty solid to Tony, fully dressed and on the precipice of waking as he was. As Tony watched, his lashes fluttered slightly, opening slowly revealing a pair of blue eyes. They blinked at Tony gently, bright even though they were heavily clouded by sleep.

"Where am I?" the boy asked, voice hoarse and uncertain.

Darn. That had been Tony's line.

"I don't know," Tony admitted, realizing as he spoke that it was the first time he'd done so since he'd found himself in this place. That meant something... though Tony wasn't quite sure what. "Are you dead?"

The boy looked frightened at that and Tony could have hit himself. In hindsight, it had been an idiotic thing to ask. Then again, no one had ever accused him of being good with children.

"I don't think so," the child answered at last, running his hands down his chest as though to check, "I don't feel dead. Are... are you?"

"I must be," Tony murmured, almost absently, "But I... I don't feel dead either."

He realized, having said so, that he wasn't sure how being dead felt. Concerned by that, he wandered over to the empty glass on the bedside table and picked it up. It rested solidly enough in his hands... ghosts couldn't touch, could they?

The door rattled and, startled, Tony dropped the glass, scolding himself a second later. He was jumping at shadows.

The man who entered the room wasn't that much younger than Tony was. He was slightly pudgy, poorly dressed and could have used a thorough shower for he was exceedingly scruffy. The boy on the bed looked at the man oddly.

"Mr. Harley?"

The man started, looking at the boy as though he was surprised to find him there. He frowned, perplexed.

"Leroy," he greeted and, as shoddy as his appearance, his voice was soft, gentle and consoling, "What are you doing awake? You should have been sleeping another few hours."

"How long have I been sleeping?" the boy (Leroy... now why did that name sound familiar?) asked, rubbing at his eyes tiredly, "Where are we?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" the man inquired cautiously.

Leroy frowned at that, thinking hard.

"I remember talking to you," he answered at last, slowly, "Dad had gone into the backroom to fetch something. You gave me a soda."

That didn't sound very promising.

"You feel tired right after you drink that?" Tony asked at once, "Dizzy or faint?"

Leroy looked over to him and nodded thoughtfully.

"He drugged you," Tony whispered, unaware he'd spoken aloud until Leroy jerked in reaction.

"You drugged me?" Leroy echoed accusingly, turning back to Harley, "Why?"

"Sorry kid," Harley managed, running an agitated hand through his hair, "You weren't meant to wake up."

"What? At all?" Leroy asked and, for the first time, he was beginning to look worried, "What were you going to do to me?"

Harley didn't say anything but, then again, he didn't have to. Leroy, likely seeing a hint of this, scooted back on the bed as far as he was able.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry Leroy," Harley croaked, clearing his throat awkwardly, "I tried. I really did. But you can't understand how beautiful you are. It's your eyes, I think. They remind me of a boy... Jeremy his name was. He was such a lovely little thing. His breath stuttered when I touched him..."

Harley seemed to discern he was giving too much away because he shook his head and refocused his attention on Leroy. Whose eyes were wider than a dinner plate.

"I'm going to put you to sleep again now," Harley informed him, almost tenderly, "I promise it won't hurt. You won't even feel anything."

"And what, you expect me to just stand by and do nothing?" Tony put in, bemused that Harley hadn't so much as glanced in his direction, "Because I gotta tell ya, that _so_  isn't happening."

Harley didn't even glance at him. Instead seemed more concerned with making his way towards the vulnerable boy on the bed, holding what looked like a syringe behind his back. Feeling a distressed fluttering take root in his stomach, Tony approached the man and, with both hands, pushed him experimentally.

Harley stumbled.

Tony stared, more puzzled than ever. Harley, on the other hand, spun around wildly to find who had pushed him. He looked directly past Tony without seeing him. Which moved this situation from odd to downright freaky.

"What the hell was that?" he wondered sharply, as though expecting the silence to answer him.

"That guy pushed you," Leroy offered blankly, observing them both oddly, his confusion momentarily overriding his fear.

"What guy?" Harley asked, frowning and sweeping the room once more, "There's no one here..."

"But how –"

"Leroy!" Tony interrupted forcefully, "Not important right now. When I say go, run toward the door."

Leroy hesitated, disliking the idea of leaving Tony behind. His eyes flicked back to Harley however, having regained his equilibrium, now holding the syringe in plain sight, and he nodded nervously. Tony, using his years playing football as inspiration, readied himself into a tackling pose.

"Ready," he began and Leroy tensed, waiting, "GO!"

Tony launched himself at Harley the same moment that Leroy made a mad dash for the door. Harley crumbled beneath him, hitting the ground with a loud  _oomph_. He struggled under Tony, cursing fluently, but Tony held tight until Leroy was safely out of the room. Then he knocked Harley's head solidly against the ground, hard enough to render him unconscious, and clambered to his feet. He paused for a moment there before, swearing softly, he bent back down, riffled through Harley's pockets and swiped his wallet.

He closed the hotel room behind him as he left and spied Leroy at the end of the hallway, peeking around the corner and watching the door nervously. He relaxed immediately upon seeing Tony and trotted towards him, face etched with concern.

"I'm fine," Tony assured, cutting off the question before it could surface, "And I told you to run."

"I did," Leroy offered, unrepentant, "Sides, I couldn't just leave you behind."

"Sure you could" Tony countered firmly, "And next time, you will. Now come on. Let's figure out where the heck we are and how to get you home. Where do you live?"

"Stillwater," Leroy replied carelessly, "Why couldn't Harley see you?"

"I don't know," Tony admitted, "Maybe I  _am_  dead and your –wait. Did you say Stillwater? Leroy from  _Stillwater_?"

"Yeah..." Leroy agreed dubiously, eyeing Tony questioningly.

"Leroy  _Jethro Gibbs_ , from Stillwater?"

"Hey!" Leroy exclaimed, stopping short, "How'd you know my name?"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Tony muttered, not swearing by the skin of his teeth, "This is great. Now I'm insane as well as dead."

Leroy took his hand and squeezed it. It was warm, slightly sweaty, and very small within his own.

"I couldn't touch you if you were truly dead," Leroy pointed out, holding up their clasped hands for Tony's examination, "How did you know my name?"

"Because I know you," Tony replied, "Only you're much older. Much, much older. Like, mid-forties older."

"That is old," Leroy agreed, eyes wide. "Are we friends?"

"Sure," Tony returned, mind almost imploding with how surreal this was, "You're the best man I've ever met."

Leroy looked very pleased with that pronouncement.

"Maybe you time-travelled," Leroy suggested, "Or were abducted by aliens?"

"I don't have a phone booth," Tony dismissed light-heartedly. Unfortunately, that prime Dr. Who reference went right over little Leroy's head. Apparently total ignorance of popular culture was something that hadn't changed. Or wouldn't change. Whichever.

"What do you remember?" Leroy asked curiously.

Tony hesitated, not sure he should tell a child he'd been shot. In the end, he relented.

"I remember being hit by a bullet."

"Seriously?" Leroy breathed, awed.

"Yeah. Then I opened my eyes and I was here. Maybe I'm dreaming." Tony mused.

"But I can see you and I'm not dreaming," Leroy pointed out.

"You could be part of my dream," Tony argued.

"I feel pretty real," Leroy disputed uncertainly, "I'm fairly sure I'm not a dream."

"But if you  _were_  a dream, you would say that," Tony rebutted, unmoved. Leroy looked confused by such logic, unable to comprehend such massive concepts. Since he looked no more than seven, that was hardly unexpected.

"Don't worry about it," Tony dismissed with a sigh, seeing his expression, "It doesn't make a difference. Dream or not, I'm here for now and in this moment. While I am, I might as well be useful and help you."

"How'd you get shot anyway?" Leroy wondered, "Were you in a duel?"

"Sort of," Tony replied, grinning and imagining himself as a cowboy, "I'm a special agent."

Leroy looked at him blankly.

"A bit like James Bond," Tony elaborated, "Without being a spy. I work for NCIS. It's a little like the FBI, but with fewer idiots employed."

"Sounds cool," Leroy remarked, "Do you like it?"

"Best job I ever had."

Leroy looked thoughtful at that. Tony used his distraction to steer him out of the hotel and onto the street.

He knew at once that they weren't in Stillwater.

It was busier, far more polluted and filled with people. Tony looked around anxiously, trying to find a street sign, an address –anything. At the top of the street he found one: it read  _"W Pine Av"_. Which told Tony absolutely nothing.

"Where the hell are we?" Tony wondered aloud.

"I don't know," Leroy admitted, "I've never been here before."

Tony sighed and, looking up and down the street, made his way to the nearest bin. He peered in at the surface and, seeing nothing, grimaced and began rifling through it.

"What are you doing?" Leroy demanded, wrinkling his nose.

"Looking for –ahah! A newspaper,"

It was soggy, sticky and covered with god-knows-what, but it was legible.

"Why?" Leroy asked, incredulously.

"For this," Tony pointed, directing Leroy's attention to the title:  _"The Bloomsburg Daily"_.

"Tuesday?" Leroy read, anxious, "I've been missing two days!"

"Your dad must be worried sick," Tony muttered, "Still. We know where we are. Were in Bloomsburg... sound familiar?"

"I... I think so..." Leroy said slowly, brow furrowed, "I think there's an airport here."

"That's something," Tony consented, "It can't be too far from Stillwater if you've heard of it. Hopefully. We'll need to get a map."

"I don't have any money," Leroy observed.

"Harley's buying," Tony assured, hating the necessity of stealing but knowing there wasn't a way around it. Leroy looked delighted by the statement, which, oddly, just made Tony feel worse. He was a terrible influence.

"Should we buy a map first?" Leroy wondered, cocking his head thoughtfully.

"Rule 25," Tony began, half by habit, "Never buy anything you can get for free."

"More stealing?" Leroy asked and Tony was pleased that the boy at least looked uncertain by that.

"No," Tony countered, "Just loitering. We'll be able to find a street directory at a newsagency or a bookshop. Whichever one we come to first."

"Good idea," Leroy approved, looking impressed, "Left or right?"

"Er..." Tony stalled, because, really, when one didn't know where one was, things like that seemed rather pointless. "Left?"

"Why left?" Leroy asked as Tony began walking.

"Why not?" Tony countered, "It's as good a direction as any."

Leroy was not very reassured.

"How old are you anyway, Leroy?" Tony asked, changing the subject as abruptly as he could.

"I'm seven and a half," Leroy proclaimed proudly, puffing himself up self-importantly.

"Practically grown," Tony agreed, not bothering to hide his smile. Leroy beamed at him, apparently missing the humour.

"What's your name, anyway?" Leroy asked curiously, "You never said."

"It's Tony," Tony replied, "And try not to talk so loudly. People are staring."

Indeed, a woman standing at a bus stop not far from them was eyeing Leroy oddly. Considering that Tony couldn't be seen by anyone else, Tony could hardly blame her.

"Sorry," Leroy whispered, his voice soft but his manner no more inconspicuous than before. Tony sighed and rolled his eyes fondly.

"Oh look, a bookshop," Leroy pointed out, forgetting discretion all together to point eagerly a couple shops down. Tony face-palmed himself as the overt act garnered them yet more strange looks.

"Good job," he said instead, remembering why he planned to never have any children, "Let's have a look."

The bookshop was quiet and smelled strongly of paper and wood –a scent that reminded Tony rather forcefully of his father's study except for the absence of tobacco and alcohol. Aside for a few other customers, most of whom were female, the shop was barren and as such a small seven year old boy stood out like a sore thumb.

Tony, feeling more than a couple of eyes gazing in their direction, felt a pressing need to get the job done and get out. He wasn't McGee, however, and his expert navigation skills vanished completely once books were entered into the equation. As such, it took longer than Tony would have liked to find a street directory –to the point where Tony nearly had a mini panic attack worrying that bookstores didn't stock them.

Leroy flipped through the book with absolutely no method to his madness, apparently skimming at random. Pointedly, Tony took the book and flipped to the index, where he found  _W Pine Av_  and Stillwater, though the two were far enough apart that a lot of flipping back and forth was required.

"It's not too bad," Tony declared as he examined the pages, "Harley didn't take you far. We're only an hour or two out of Stillwater. He probably just hightailed it to the nearest city with an airport."

"I can be home in a couple of hours?" Leroy asked hopefully.

"If we had a car, sure," Tony returned, a touch wryly, "But we're going to have to do this the hard way so... probably double that."

"Oh," Leroy breathed, disheartened.

"Better than nothing," Tony consoled, a little awkwardly.

"I suppose," Leroy agreed listlessly, not looking very consoled.

"Come on," Tony coaxed, taking Leroy's hand and giving it a squeeze, "We'll never get anywhere hanging around here."

Not releasing Leroy's hand, he guided the child back onto the street and back up the road to the bus stop. The woman who had stared at them was gone (small mercies) so Tony took his time examining the timetable tacked up on the post.

"I've never wished for a laptop so badly," Tony bemoaned, "This is much easier when you can look up directions and transport on Google Maps."

"Google?" Leroy parroted bemusedly and, reminded once more of the year, Tony waved the question off.

"Bloomsburg Station is on here," Tony noted idly, "And I'm sure I've heard you mention something about a train station in Stillwater..."

"There is one," Leroy assured.

"We'll go there then," Tony decided, "Figure out the train details later."

"When's the next bus?" Leroy asked, peering at the timetable with the expression of one not able to make heads or tails of it. Checking his watch, Tony compared the time against those on the post.

"Seven minutes," Tony declared, "But really that means anything from ten to fifteen. Buses are never on time."

"Wish they had benches," Leroy grumbled, and Tony eyed him worriedly. Being drugged tended to suck so much because they continued to make you feel lethargic even after they'd worn off enough for you to wake. Worse still, the only cure for that was sleep –something Leroy wouldn't be getting for a while.

"But then you might fall asleep," Tony teased instead, wanting to keep Leroy distracted, "And I wouldn't be able to tell you all about your future self..."

"I'm not tired!" Leroy protested at once, perking up.

"Alright," Tony shrugged, overly casual, "What do you want to know?"

"Am I married? Do I have any kids? What am I like? What do I do? Do I still live in Stillwater? How long have you known me? Am I handsome? Am –"

"Woah!" Tony pretested, holding up his hands and grinning, "Slow down. This isn't a race so one question at a time."

"Sorry," Leroy chirped, not sounding sorry at all.

"Don't apologise, it's a sign of weakness," Tony parried reflexively.

"That another rule?" Leroy wondered curiously, "How many have you got?"

"Fifty-one at my last count," Tony returned, pausing to consider that, "Approximately. Some are more important than others."

"What's rule one?" Leroy asked.

"Er...  _'Never let suspects stay together'_ ," Tony remembered and, seeing Leroy's expression, explained, "They're not in order of importance. As that goes, number two is probably the most important."

"Which is...?" Leroy prompted.

" _Never screw over your partner_ ," Tony quoted, "Or is that one ' _always wear gloves at a crime scene'_?" realizing he was losing ground and getting off track, he quickly changed the subject, "But didn't you have some questions about your future?"

"Oh yeah," Leroy recalled, "Do I still live in Stillwater with my dad?"

"In your forties?" Tony laughed, "No, thank god. You live in D.C. these days. Same as me."

"What do I do? Am I a fireman?"

"No," Tony was forced to admit, smiling at the image of fireman Gibbs despite himself, "You're a Marine. You work with me at NCIS."

"Oh," Leroy muttered, considering that, "That could be cool."

"It is sometimes," Tony freely agreed, not mentioning the days where it seemed to suck out your soul, "You watch my six –my back."

"We partners?" Leroy wondered.

"As a matter of fact, you're my boss," Tony corrected, laughing lightly at the awed look that confession produced, "That's right, you get to order me around all day."

"Am I a good boss?" Leroy wanted to know.

"The best," Tony assured him honestly, "And the best man I've ever met. Stubborn as hell though."

Leroy grinned at that, clearing taking it as a compliment.  _He would_ , Tony couldn't help but think in fond exasperation.

"We been working together long?"

"Over nine year now," Tony returned, feeling amazed all over again. It was four times as long as he'd lasted anywhere else, "And here's our bus. A full four minutes late, of course."

The buss ground to a stop with a sharp screech and, with a hiss, the doors slid open. It was, of course, older than any of the buses Tony was used to catching and looked liable to fall apart at any moment –which made Tony very apprehensive about boarding it.

"Two tickets to Bloomsburg train station please," Leroy requested politely.

The driver, an elderly man whose nametag read  _'Ian'_ , eyed Leroy curiously.

"Who's the second ticket for?" he wondered.

Tony was having another face-palm moment.

"My friend Emily," Leroy covered at once, making his eyes as round as possible, "She's my bestest friend in the whole wide world and follows me _everywhere_. Doesn't she need a ticket?"

The bus driver softened, assuming that  _'Emily'_  was Leroy's imaginary friend. Tony was meanwhile trying to suppress any annoyance he felt for being turned into a little girl... with mixed success.

"Best friends ride free today," he assured the child with a wink, "That'll be eighty cents."

"Wow, thanks," Leroy returned earnestly, "Come on Emily."

"I'll show  _you_  Emily," Tony grumbled, not at all taken in by Leroy's false innocence but following Leroy to the back of the bus obediently, "Just you wait."

Leroy grinned at him and scooted into his seat. Tony turned away to hide his smile and instead gave the bus a quick once-over. It was practically empty and none of the passengers looked particularly threatening but Tony examined them all carefully regardless, determined to be vigilant.

Leroy –sweet, innocent, only seven years old –was more interested in watching the scenery (if you could call it that) rush by.

 

*~*~*~*~* **  
TBC...  
** *~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leroy is kidnapped and drugged by a man who intends to sexually assault and then kill him. Don't worry though -Tony totally kicks his ass.


	3. Reflections of Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better. Then they get worse.

_I'm sick to death of shadows_  
 _I long for something real_  
 _I hate these inconsistencies_  
 _Give me something corporeal_  
 _For it seems my life is faded_  
 _That all the colours all are grey_  
 _Give me blue, pink, mauve or white_  
 _To wash it all away_  
 _I hate this foul existence_  
 _It's like living in a mirror_  
 _But nothing here is solid_  
 _Outlines seem to shimmer_  
 _Tell me what I need to do_  
 _To escape this harsh brutality_  
 _And please, offer me something more  
_ _Than a reflection of reality_

**Chapter Two: Reflections of Reality**

 

They were on the bus not even ten minutes, but Leroy spent the whole of it glued to the window. Looking at him –this tiny boy who was still so filled with innocence despite the day he'd had –it was hard to believe he'd one day grow into Gibbs.

Of course, there was still very good chance he was imagining this.

Deciding not to dwell on that possibility, Tony instead tried to imagine that this was real. That he'd died and had, somehow (through some twisted, but classic, form of DiNozzo luck) ended up in the past. What sort of implications would it have?

Then again, perhaps it wouldn't have any. If this was the past then anything that happened had already happened –and Gibbs had never interacted with Tony as though he'd remembered him. Would something happen that would cause little Leroy to forget what had happened? Or had Gibbs eventually dismissed his invisible helper as the over active imagination of a child?

"Tony –I mean Emily," Leroy corrected himself with a smile, "There's the train station up ahead –see? You can see the sign."

"You wanna pull the cord?" Tony invited and, like any child, Leroy jumped at the chance –in this case literally as he sprang to his feet, reached up his tip-toes and gave the cord a firm yank.

The bus slid to a halt moments later, jerking slightly as it became stationary. Leroy was up at once, grabbing Tony's hand and pulling them through the walkway and down the steps, waving cheerfully to the bus driver as he dismounted.

The train station was underground. The walls were an endless sea of gray concrete, the floor liberally covered in filth and the lights barely adequate. It was also several degrees colder than it had been outside and markedly stuffier as well. Tony put up with it all with very ill grace, trying (with mixed success) to navigate his way through the identical walkways.

"Alright," Tony plotted when they finally found the ticket booth, "So don't talk to me and ask how you can get to Stillwater."

"Okay," Leroy agreed, already disregarding the first order completely.

Tony resisted the temptation to head slap him. Somehow, Gibbs would find out about it and kill him –already dead or no. He settled for feeling a profound sense of doom as Leroy approached the window.

"Excuse me?" he began, with a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth demeanour, "Ms? How would I get to Stillwater?"

"Little young to be travelling alone, ain't ya?" The woman asked, concerned.

"I'm seven and a half!" Leroy protested, honestly indignant, "Sides, my daddy's gonna meet me on the train. Only I forget which one it is."

It wasn't exactly a mastermind of a story. The woman, rightly so, didn't look like she was buying what Leroy was selling. Still, apparently children wandering around by themselves was cause for concern but not for action, because she nodded as though she believed him and gestured to the railway map behind her.

"No direct routes," she explained, "Stillwater's pretty isolated. You'll need to go to Orangeville first and change there. At Orangeville, you'll need to hop on a train to Fishing Creek Township. From there you'll have to get a train heading towards Benton –but make sure it's an all-stop train. Otherwise it might not stop at Stillwater first. You get all that hon?"

"Orangeville, Fishing Creek, Benton," Leroy recited obediently, "How long will that take me?"

"You'll likely have to wait between stops, so I can't rightly say," the woman admitted, "There's a good chance you won't get there before dark."

For a trip that would take Tony just over two hours to drive, that was bothersome.

"Darn," Leroy swore softly, making the woman give him a very disapproving look, "What platform?"

"Platform two," she replied, still looking at Leroy as though to chastise him, "And you're in luck. Next train to Orangeville is only five minutes away. That'll be a dollar fifty please."

Leroy handed the money over dutifully, taking his ticket with a soft word of thanks before turning back to Tony.

"Let's go then," Tony prompted, grabbing Leroy's hand, "Platform two, huh? Where's that, do you think?"

Leroy shrugged articulately but, as it turned out, it wasn't too much of a strain finding it –there were only two platforms, both of them adjacent to each other and situated at the top of some steps that were easily located in the centre of the tunnel. Though the streets had been rather busy, the train station was utterly deserted with Leroy and Tony being the only one's there... and that's if Tony counted himself which, corporeal as he was, was questionable.

At least there were benches.

Leroy sunk into the nearest one the moment he saw them and Tony followed suit. He felt oddly he was fulfilling the role as Leroy's stark opposite for where Leroy was half falling asleep where he was, Tony didn't feel tired at all. Nor did he feel particularly energised. Rather he felt weary in mind but not in body –his body seemed to be running passively, neither too fast nor too slow. Thinking about it only made Tony feel twitchy, so he forcefully ignored his own physiological existence and focused instead on his charge.

"Do you think Harley's awake yet?" Leroy wondered, yawning halfway through his question.

"I don't know," Tony mused, considering that, "Probably. I don't think I hit him that hard."

"You hit him?" Leroy probed, perking up a little at that.

"Knocked him out cold," Tony confided, "Wasn't going to let him get away with hurting you."

Leroy grinned at that and looked up abruptly as the strange rattling sound that heralded a coming train began to echo through the chamber.

"That's us," Tony prompted as he levered Leroy to his feet.

There was a loud screech, metal jarring against metal, as the train streamed before them and rolled to a smooth halt. Like the bus, the train was decades older than the ones Tony was used to catching and, like the bus, it seemed far from stable. Apparently transport safety guidelines hadn't been all too strenuous in the sixties.

As though to further taunt Tony, the doors refused to open smoothly. Leroy gave them a firm tug to pull them ajar completely nonchalantly enough that it was clearly commonplace and climbed onboard with Tony sharp on his six –as always.

Unlike the trains that existed in the year 2010, this train was only a single story –which, considering its stability, was likely a good thing. Another detail to note was that, while the station had been empty, the train itself was half full of people on their way to Orangeville. Leroy found a bench with two seats and slid in, slumping down tiredly as he did so.

"You can go to sleep," Tony assured, "I think we'll be here a while."

"I've slept enough," Leroy protested.

"Which doesn't mean you need it any less," Tony rebutted, "I won't let anyone hurt you."

"I'm not sleepy," Leroy snapped moodily, his temper disproving his statement more than any argument Tony could have dreamt up, "And I can look after myself."

"But you don't have to," Tony returned quietly and, seeing Leroy's mulish look, decided to try a different track, "You're a good man, you know. In the future. A good boss. Saved my life more times than I can count. Before McGee and Ziva and even Kate it used to be just you and me. Which wasn't always a good thing."

Leroy was listening... or trying to listen. The rhythmic rocking of the train and the soothing tone of Tony's voice was working some sort of spell on him that made his eyelids seem overly heavy. He stifled a yawn and leaned against Tony –just a little. Encouraged, Tony continued.

"Some days it was terrible. I'd never worked anywhere for long and you were so hard to please. But, oddly, that made me more determined to last. It was as though I knew you expected nothing less than perfection from me... which made me think you believed me capable of it. No one had ever believed that of me before. Certainly not my father. At first, I wanted to prove that I could live up to those beliefs. But the longer we worked together the more that changed."

Leroy leaned even further against Tony's shoulder, his eyes slipping closed completely. Tony didn't falter, knowing the child hovered on a precipice –stopping now might break the spell completely.

"I got to know you. I'd never worked for anyone so determined to solve a case, so persistent. And you didn't even want the recognition –actually sought to deny it. All you wanted was justice for the victims, for their families. You cared –you cared more than anyone I'd ever met. You made me not only want to be a better cop but a better person. You made me see in myself everything I could be instead of everything I wasn't. It was... a revelation."

Leroy's head dropped completely. Shifting back, Tony coaxed it onto his lap and manoeuvred Leroy's legs so that he was laying on the bench completely. Leroy stirred only slightly at the manipulation and, soothingly, Tony began running his fingers through Leroy's hair as he spoke.

"I was constantly amazed by your strength, you know. It seemed endless some days. I became so in tune with you that I could tell what you wanted before you demanded it –began fetching you coffees before you asked, walking in sync behind you, anticipating your actions and acting to compliment them. Even when we were only a two man team we had the highest solve rate in all of NCIS. It's humbling to know you like this, Leroy. You're nothing like him –not yet. A mere shadow... there's stubbornness there, of course. A willingness to persevere, to never give up. Not to mention your curiosity. And your eyes. Your eyes haven't changed at all."

Leroy was deeply in slumber now but Tony persisted in running his fingers through his hair.

"I think I would have known who you were," he mused, to finish his soliloquy, "If I hadn't known you were from Stillwater or your first name. Or even anything about you at all –I would have known you for your eyes alone."

Inexplicitly, there was so much more that Tony wanted to say. He wanted to stay everything that always felt too hard to say: he wanted to apologise for dying, for all the times he'd screwed up. He wanted to tell Gibbs how much he'd admired him... how deeply he'd come to love him. But the boy sleeping innocently in his lap wasn't that man (not yet) and it wasn't fair to treat him like he was –like a substitute.

So Tony remained mute as he drew Leroy closer to himself and waited patiently for their stop. It was only twenty five minutes later that the conductor was announcing Orangeville as the next stop and, reluctantly, Tony shook Leroy awake.

"Mmmm?" Leroy managed as he stirred.

"It's our stop," Tony explained, helping him sit up. Leroy shook his head, clearing the sleep out, and raised a hand to rub at his eyes, looking ridiculously young as he did so.

"Orangeville?" Leroy checked, yawning.

"Yep," Tony agreed and, already the train was beginning to slow, "Next stop Fishing Creek."

Leroy groaned in protest but nonetheless staggered to his feet and dismounted the train with Tony guiding the way. The train set off again pretty much the moment their feet touched concrete and, looking around the station, Tony spied a timetable. He coaxed Leroy onto a bench and went to examine it. Fishing Creek wasn't on it, which meant they were on the wrong platform. Tony looked towards the sky, hoping it wouldn't rain. Unlike Bloomsburg, this station wasn't underground –though on the bright side, Tony could see the other platform very clearly across the way, the two connected by a bridge.

Resisting the impulse to pick Leroy up (which would look very peculiar indeed to anyone that saw them) Tony hauled the child to his feet and all but dragged him up the steps, across the bridge and back down again. Thankfully, Fishing Creek  _was_  on the timetable here, the trains every half hour. Tony checked his watch, hoping for the best, but the next train was sixteen minutes away.

Leroy, this time around, was too tired to even put up a fight or require a story. He curled himself up on the bench, head in Tony's lap, without having to be prompted and was asleep almost instantly. Tony, feeling his heart clench for the boy, began his rhythmic petting up again. With the day Leroy had had, what the child really needed was a warm cup of hot chocolate and a feather bed.

"Poor thing," Tony couldn't help but sympathise quietly, very thankful Leroy was dead to the world –he would have glared fiercely at the endearment otherwise.

It occurred to him then that Leroy never would have made it this far alone. Even supposing that he hadn't been raped and killed in that derelict hotel room (an image that made Tony's blood run hot with fury and desire to knock Harley out all over again) he never would have managed on the streets by himself. With no money, nowhere to go, no idea where he was –even the most stubborn of children would have found themselves quickly at a loss or, worse, taken advantage of by those possessing a less scrupulous nature.

Unsettled by the idea of a world without Leroy Jethro Gibbs in it, Tony clutched the child a little more tightly and allowed his hand to linger as it swept the hair out of Leroy's forehead. The motion was aborted abruptly, however, and Tony frowned, pausing to lay his hand directly over the boy's brow.

It was warm.

Tony swore. Raising his other hand, he double-checked his findings but they proved to be conclusive. Leroy had a fever.

Considering he'd spent two days drugged into submission (not to mention dragged all over Bloomsburg) this was not all together surprising –merely inconvenient as hell. Still, Tony could hardly blame Leroy for possessing a body that reacted badly to being heavily drugged and, thus, his frustrations were denied a convenient outlet.

For a long (and largely irrational) moment, Tony considered waking Leroy so that he could grill him about his wellbeing. But even Tony knew that nothing could be done –if Leroy was sick, waking him up wouldn't serve to make him any less so. All Tony could do, actually, was try to ensure he got some rest. And perhaps keep him warm.

As though to spite him, the sky rumbled ominously.

Tony looked up appraisingly. The sky was a collage of furious greys that waxed and waned rapidly. A streak of lightning jumped from one cloud to another and, a few seconds later, thunder sounded. Teasingly, a drop of rain fell, landing directly onto Tony's upturned nose.

Winkling said nose uncomfortably, Tony checked his watch optimistically. Six more minutes to go.

Tony peered down the railway track futilely, as though the train could conjure itself into existence on the foreseeable track before him. Of course, no such train designed to do so.

Another drop of rain fell, this time on Tony's hand. The next came only seconds later, landing on the crown of his head. After that, they came more rapidly and it wasn't long before Leroy was stirring, peeking blearily up at the sky above them.

"It raining?" he mumbled worriedly.

"Just sprinkling," Tony assured, hoping it would stay that way, "Here."

He dragged Leroy towards him, shucking off his jacket as he did so. The resulting position left Leroy curled up on his lap, head resting in the hollow of Tony's shoulder. Tony used his superior height to hunch himself over the child and, using the jacket as a buffer, wrapped it around them both, shielding Leroy from the worst of the elements –and Tony not at all.

It began to rain more steadily almost at once, as though the heavens had seen this as permission, and Tony found himself slowly (but thoroughly) soaked. Luckily, his bulk and the way that he'd arranged Leroy and the jacket, meant that the child remained largely protected. To the extent that the boy had fallen back into a light doze.

Knowing his makeshift cover wouldn't last, Tony managed to check his watch again. Three minutes to go. Now that it was raining, the watch had apparently decided to slow time to an infinite crawl. Which, really, was just Tony's sort of luck.

Beneath him, Leroy shivered. Tony hugged the boy ever closer, trying to use his own body warmth to keep him warm. He didn't know much about medicine but it seemed to him that the worst thing for Leroy to be right then was cold and wet.

"Come on," Tony pleaded the still absent train, starting to shiver himself at the cold, "Hurry the hell up."

Begging clearly had no effect and the next three minutes absolutely crawled. The only thing Tony had cause to be thankful for was that while the rain didn't slow, it didn't up its tempo any either. Which was a lucky thing indeed, for Tony doubted his barrier would continue to protect Leroy if it began to pour.

At last, Tony heard it. The best sound in the world. The swoosh of air and the metal against metal as a train pulled into the station.

"Leroy," Tony coaxed, poking the boy gently, "Come on, up and at 'em."

"My head hurts," Leroy complained tiredly, nonetheless allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

"I know," Tony sympathised, "We'll be home soon enough. I promise. Just get onto the train for me."

Leroy nodded, shamelessly stealing Tony's cloak as they separated and wrapping it around himself. It dwarfed him completely, earning some curious looks from the other passengers, but Leroy seemed beyond caring.

Tony all but dragged him to a seat and forced him onto it. Leroy leaned against Tony at once but didn't sleep. Laying a worried hand against his forehead, Tony frowned. Exact temperatures were hard to gauge using skin alone, but it felt as though Leroy was warmer than he had been before.

"How are you feeling?" Tony asked.

"Pretty horrid," Leroy admitted, blinking at Tony sorrowfully, "Achy all over. And really heavy. Like my bones are filled with lead."

"It's because you were drugged so long," Tony explained, "Sedation is always risky. Your body is reacting badly to the harsh changes."

At least, that was what Tony hoped the problem was. If this was an infection from a dirty needle or a nicked artery from an awkward injection, they were screwed.

"Hate Harley," Leroy muttered darkly.

"Me too," Tony agreed earnestly, "I should have hit him harder."

Leroy grinned at that, eyes brightening slightly before they turned to the window.

"Wow," he managed, blinking a touch bemusedly, "It's really pouring down."

Attention caught, Tony peered out of the window. The rain was coming so furiously now that Tony couldn't see the scenery past it. The sky was now a chaotic sea of black and, wet though he was, Tony thanked god they'd missed this.

Which was perhaps pre-emptive since they still had another train to catch.

"How much longer?" Leroy wondered, mind running along a similar track.

"We're over halfway," Tony offered in place of a concrete answer, "Only one more train to before we get to Stillwater."

"How're we going to get from the station to home?" Leroy persisted.

"Is it far?" Tony asked, "Could we walk it?"

"Well yeah, we could," Leroy admitted, eyeing Tony oddly, "But in  _this_?"

He waved a hand towards the window to emphasize his point. The bolt of lightning that flashed just as he did so certainly provided a convincing argument.

"How far?" Tony repeated, stubbornly.

"Fifteen minutes if we hurried," Leroy replied at last, slouching down unhappily, "Usually takes me twenty. We're walking, aren't we?"

"Not unless there are many cabs in Stillwater?" Tony prodded.

"No," Leroy managed mulishly, "You have to call them in advance."

"Then we're walking."

Thunder clapped loudly, heralding that declaration, and Leroy groaned.

 

*~*~*~*~* __ **  
**TBC...  
*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting note: all the places in this fic are all real –they actually exist –but the transport details are utter fiction. So sue me.
> 
> If you read, please review.


	4. Precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leroy gets worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No *real* triggers but, just in case your being cautious, check the end notes for additional warnings.

_I'm on the edge of breaking down_  
 _An inch from giving in_  
 _I've given all there is to give_  
 _And still I didn't win_  
 _I'm on the cusp of losing it_  
 _A thought away from cracking_  
 _The thoughts that swim around my head_  
 _Remind me what I'm lacking_  
 _I'm a second away from tears_  
 _A word away from rage_  
 _I wish there was a way to start again_  
 _And turn to a new page_  
 _For though I valiantly carry on_  
 _I muddle, crawl and dredge_  
 _It seems I spend the whole of my life  
_ _Perpetually on a ledge_

**Chapter Three: Precipice**

 

The station at Fishing Creek was tiny but at least it was undercover.

Leroy, still wrapped in Tony's coat (a factor Tony tried not to think about since it seemed logically impossible for Leroy to wrap himself up in something that, whist on Tony, no one could see and likely didn't even exist), sat on the bench and watched the rain thunder down with a lack of emotion that was slightly worrisome.

Tony, reading the timetable, ignored him and focused on their route. To his annoyance, the first two trains didn't stop at Stillwater, but rather went directly to Benton. Worse still, the third train was a full forty five minutes away.

And the rain didn't look like it was going to let up anytime soon.

Tony tried to tell himself that they were on the last leg of the journey but, honestly, looking at Leroy he couldn't see how he'd get the child home. Leroy was flushed with fever, shivering despite his many layers and not looking at all up for a fifteen minute walk home –looked like he'd collapse making the attempt.

"You alright?"

Leroy turned his head, his whole body jerking abruptly. For a moment, Tony ached with worry, concerned his fever was getting worse, but then Leroy let out a small sound. It was diminutive and half choked off but Tony still recognised it as a sob.

If Tony was bad with children, he was a thousand times worse with crying children. That was usually Gibbs' forte. Uncertain and awkward as he was, Tony tentatively pulled Leroy into a loose embrace.

Apparently, that was all it took. Leroy burrowed his head into Tony's shirt and broke down completely. A little alarmed, Tony hesitated before hugging him closer. Leroy seemed to have no such reservations –he clung to Tony like a life raft, sobbing onto his shoulder blindly. Unable to do anything but ride it out, Tony ran a hand soothingly down the child's back and rocked him gently as he cried.

It went on and on and on.

Tony was reminded, rather forcefully, just how young Leroy was. The boy was only seven (and a half) and had had one hell of a day. He throbbed with the need to do something, make it better someone –conjure a bed or some hot chocolate –even an umbrella would be welcome.

But Tony couldn't do anything except hold Leroy close and wait for him to settle. It was jarring. Tony had felt helpless plenty of times but he'd never felt so utterly powerless.

They sat there for a very long time. Eventually, however, Leroy's tears run out and his sobs turned hiccups.

"Sorry," he managed, not lifting his head.

"Don't apologise," Tony said, a touch ironically, "Sign of weakness."

"And crying isn't?" Leroy muttered darkly, voice muffled by Tony's shirt.

"Showing emotion isn't," Tony corrected, "You can't help the way you feel, Leroy. I've seen enough burnt out cops to know that holding it in is what hurts you the most. We all feel emotion –isn't any shame in showing it."

"Yeah?" Leroy prompted, lifting his head just enough to challenge Tony with his stare, "When was the last time  _you_  cried?"

"I cry," Tony returned, softly, "I cried my eyes out when a good friend of mine died. More than once, actually. I've cried for you as well."

"I made you cry?" now Leroy looked horrified.

"Not on purpose," Tony amended, "You were hurt in an explosion once. I was so sure you'd be okay and... you were but you weren't. You had to take a little time off then, to get better. I cried the night you left."

"Why, though?" Leroy whispered, eyes wide, "If I was okay and all?"

"I thought you weren't ever coming back," Tony admitted uncomfortably, finding this was cutting a little too close to home, "That I'd never see you again. And I was sad you'd been hurt at all."

"And that made you cry?"

Tony nodded, bowing his head and trying not to relive what had been one of the hardest periods in his life.

"Did I come back?" Leroy wondered.

"Eventually," Tony returned, almost absently, "But not for me."

Leroy didn't understand how weighted a statement that was, so seemed rather pleased by that.

"I can't wait till I'm big," he confided, wiping his cheeks and managing a smile, "I think it'll be fun, working with you."

Tony smiled back. He didn't like thinking about the future because doing so would be to tie himself up in questioning the existence of this reality, of this moment, of the boy in his arms. Tony didn't want to get into that.

"Train," Leroy noted, pointing down the line where a black mass was drawing ever closer, "After this, I'm never getting on another train ever again!"

"I'm feeling that right now," Tony returned, lightly, "Ready to run?"

Leroy scrambled to his feet, smiling earnestly now as he wrapped the jacket around himself and nodding. The train, taking its sweet time, finally pulled up alongside them and, taking a breath, Tony and Leroy braced themselves and dashed through the rain and onto the carriage.

It wasn't far –Tony doubted it was three feet –but they still got pretty wet. Leroy looked much cheerier as he fell into a seat, though far too flushed for Tony's liking. Ignoring the annoyed look Leroy gave him, Tony lifted a hand to take a rough temperature.

"You still very warm," he frowned, eyeing Leroy closely.

"I'll be okay," Leroy assured him, his eyes dark with circles and his breath a little too fast.

Tony wasn't convinced.

"Not far to go now," he consoled himself instead, eyeing the carriage window, "What are the odds it'll stop raining by the time we get there?"

"Not good," Leroy chirped, leaning against the window and trying to look alert, with mixed success.

"That's what I thought," Tony agreed, sighing. For the first time he allowed himself to miss his home, to miss his team mates, to wonder if he'd ever see either ever again. Then he pushed away the thoughts with exasperation –he couldn't afford to worry about that right now.

"Tell me more about my future?" Leroy half asked, half demanded, "The good parts."

"The good parts," Tony echoed, "Well, you like your job a lot. And you like working with us all. It's not just me and you anymore, either. There's McGee and Ziva as well. McGee's a technology nerd and Ziva's a ninja assassin. You like me best, of course."

"Course," Leroy agreed, not picking up the self deprecating humour at all and taking the statement as fact, "You're awesome."

"Well naturally," Tony parried, more touched by that than was rightly warranted, "But McGee and Ziva have their perks. Then there's Abby. She's our forensic scientist. She rocks. Dresses all in black, listens to heavy metal music, more bubbly than champagne. You absolutely adore her."

"What do I do when I'm not at work?" Leroy wondered, "Do we hang out?"

"Sometimes," Tony admitted, remembering countless nights spent on Gibbs' basement steps, "But mostly? You build boats."

"I build boats," Leroy repeated, "Seriously?"

"In your basement," Tony confirmed.

"How would I get them out?" Leroy asked, frowning curiously.

"I don't know!" Tony cried with feeling, "You won't tell us! Drives everyone absolutely crazy."

Leroy grinned before frowning.

"Do we ever talk about this?"

By  _'this'_ , Tony knew he meant this whole messed up day.

"Nope," he denied, "I don't think you remember. It was a long time ago for you."

"I'll never forget!" Leroy objected at once, "Not ever!"

Tony shrugged, because clearly Leroy had done exactly that. Leroy, sensing he was being humoured, pouted mulishly. A sight that made Tony wish, somewhat amusedly, that he had a camera.

" _Next stop Stillwater, Stillwater next stop."_

"Thank god for that," Tony avowed thankfully.

"Yeah," Leroy agreed, a touch darkly, "Now we just need to walk the twenty minutes home."

Tony looked out the window where, if possible, the rain looked even fiercer than it had before. Walking twenty minutes in it did not sound like fun. Not to mention that Tony continued to be sceptical that Leroy could make it that far.

"Think happy thoughts," Tony tried to encourage, standing into a large stretch, "You'll be seeing your dad soon."

"He's gonna be pretty angry," Leroy observed worriedly, "I've been gone over two days."

"He's not going to be angry at you," Tony consoled, "Trust me, I wouldn't want to be Harley when you tell him what happened."

Something in Tony's tone caught Leroy's interest and he turned to him peculiarly.

"Have you met my dad?"

"Once," Tony admitted, "He was a nice guy. I liked him –he gave me a sweater."

"Really?" Leroy blinked, "You must have made an impression."

Tony paused, sensing there was something more to that statement, but the train was pulling to a halt so he didn't have the forethought to probe Leroy further and, by the time they were off the train, they had more important things to worry about.

Like the rain.

"Run!" Leroy shouted excitedly, grabbing Tony's hand and making a break for it.

Tony grinned despite himself, keeping pace with the boy easily and keeping a close eye on the child at simultaneously. Leroy's eyes were bright, but from more than his perking good humour. As Tony watched, in fact, he stumbled slightly.

Tony caught him of course and Leroy stoped completely, leaning against Tony's chest and panting unevenly, utterly soaked. Tony tugged his hand gently and they proceeded again –this time at a walk. Leroy shivered nonstop, clutching at the jacket almost desperately. He managed ten minutes before he came to a halt, swaying unsteadily. Raising a hand to his forehead, Tony cursed violently to find that it was absolutely burning.

"Come on Leroy," Tony coaxed, prodding him into movement, "We're so close."

He managed to cajole Leroy into walking a few more blocks but it was becoming clear, the further they walked, that Leroy wouldn't be able to keep it up. Finally, the child sank to the floor, physically unable to walk another step and on the verge of exhaustion.

Tony looked around but saw nothing but rain and rain soaked roads. Cursing again, he decided to hell with it and ducked down to scoop Leroy up.

"I can walk," Leroy protested half-heartedly, leaning against Tony dizzily.

"I can see that," Tony quipped, "Which way?"

"Straight." Leroy replied docilely, wrapping his arms around Tony's neck and giving in easier than Tony had expected.

Tony shifted Leroy's weight up slightly, to a more comfortable position, and began to walk. Leroy was only young but he was hardly light and Tony was feeling the strain within minutes. Taking a look a Leroy, leaning a cheek against Tony's chest and shivering slightly, Tony bolstered himself and endured.

Leroy, half out of it, was alert enough to direct Tony's way and while they didn't make it in the estimated fifteen minutes they did make in within twenty.

"Down you go," Tony prompted gently, placing Leroy gently on his feet and steadying him when he swayed, "You can't meet your father floating a foot in the air."

"We home?" Leroy asked, peering sceptically at the door before them.

"Uh huh," Tony agreed, "You might want to try knocking."

Leroy did. Try, that is. It was so weak that a mouse could have done better. Rolling his eyes, Tony did it for him, knocking firmly. There was enough of a wait that Tony was tempted to try again, worried that the rain had muffled the sound. He was debating the merits of doing so when the door opened.

"Ye – _Leroy_?"

"Hey dad," Leroy greeted, all but collapsing on the doorstep.

Jack was on the child like white on rice.

"Where have you  _been_? I've been worried sick! Leroy –you're on fire! Are you alright? What in god's name happened to you?"

Leroy didn't answer. He'd stopped fighting and had slipped into unconsciousness. Jack swore, carrying his child into the house, snatching up the phone and calling an ambulance.

Tony hovered uncertainly, not sure what to do with himself. Leroy was safe now –he'd soon be taken to the hospital and treated. There was nothing more that Tony could do to help him.

And yet, he was still there.

"No, no," Jack was assuring the emergency hotline, "He's definitely breathing. Its shallow but it's there... No, not conscious... he doesn't appear harmed but he's got a hell of a fever and he's been missing two days. Lord knows what could have happened."

Tony didn't understand it. Surely, if he was dead and this was some sort of final task... surely he should vanish just about now? Pass on to the next life or whatever? And it was then that the thought occurred to him:

What if he was stuck here forever?

Tony tried to imagine that. Trapped in a world where the only person who could actually see him was a seven year old boy whose idea of discretion was to whisper loudly. On the other hand, at least he'd be able to protect Leroy.

Eternity alone wouldn't be so bad, as long as he could have that.  
  
 

*~*~*~*~*  
 

 

The hospital room was utter chaos.

Apparently, young children turning up at random after having been missing two days was major news, because Leroy was absolutely swamped with doctors anxious to check everything from his blood to his sphincter (checking for forceful entry).

Every test they did only served to alarm Jack more and when the results came back and they reported that Leroy had been drugged repeatedly and clumsily, Jack looked mad enough to kill.

Throughout it all, Tony was there, standing by Leroy's bedside and holding his hand.

Leroy looked dreadful. He was pale, still feverish and had god-knows-what hooked up to his veins. The police had come and gone, taking Jack's statement and promising to return once Leroy awoke. Jack didn't leave the room for a moment, spending most of his time pacing back and forth, shooting his son anxious looks.

Throughout it all, Tony was there, standing by Leroy's bedside and holding his hand.

And there he stayed, right up to the moment when Leroy's eyelids fluttered and opened. Tony clasped his hand tighter still and tried to smile reassuringly as Leroy looked around the room bemusedly.

"Hey," Tony greeted softly, "Bout time you woke up."

Leroy blinked slowly, clearly puzzled, and looked around the room searchingly. Jack, still pacing back and forth, spun abruptly when he saw Leroy was conscious. He was at his son's bedside at once, drawing the boy into a gentle hug.

"Leroy," he breathed, a thankful prayer, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Leroy admitted, glancing at Tony and managing a smile, "But fine."

"Thank the lord," Jack sighed, running a hand through Leroy's hair, assuring himself that his son was there and mostly intact, "What happened? Where the hell have you been?"

"Bloomsburg," Leroy replied, yawning widely.

"Bloomsburg?" Jack echoed blankly, "How the hell did you get there?"

"Harley," Leroy admitted, looking very small, "He drugged me and took me there. When I woke up it was two days later."

"I'll kill him," Jack promised darkly, "I knew he was involved somehow. Disappeared for a second and the both of you gone? It didn't sit right. He didn't hurt you?"

"Didn't get the chance," Leroy promised, "He didn't mean for me to wake up at all, but he wasn't careful with how drugged he was keeping me. I ran away."

"Which left you in Bloomsburg by yourself," Jack realized, looking pained, "How on earth did you make it home by yourself? And with a fever to boot?"

"Luck, mostly," Leroy returned, a touch wryly, "But I had help. Tony helped me."

"Tony?" Jack repeated, frowning thoughtfully, "Who's he?"

"A friend," Leroy replied, shrugging, "He helped me get home. He saved my life."

"Where is he now?" Jack wondered, "The police will likely want to talk to him and I'll need to thank him. I've been so scared for you Leroy. I was terrified I'd lost you forever."

"I'm okay," Leroy assured, eyes starting to slip closed again, "But I'm a little thirsty. Can I have some water?"

"I'll go get you some," Jack agreed, bending down to bestow a kiss on Leroy's head before leaving the room.

"Tony," Leroy said the moment his father had left, "Thanks. For everything."

"Glad to help," Tony returned honestly, "Get some sleep."

Leroy grimaced very slightly.

"Hate hospitals," he complained.

"Yeah," Tony sympathised, "Me too."

Leroy's eyes fell closed for a second before Leroy forced them back open. He eyed Tony uneasily.

"I'll be here when you wake," Tony swore, squeezing his hand once more. Apparently reassured, Leroy let himself fall into slumber.

Throughout it all, Tony was there, standing by Leroy's bedside and holding his hand.  
 

 

*~*~*~*~*

  
 

The next time Leroy woke, the police were there waiting.

It was impossible to tell the story without including Tony –there was simply no way Leroy could have made it back alone in his condition –but he gave as little away as possible.

"He didn't give me his last name," Leroy snapped, clearly a little sick of being grilled, "I didn't think to ask it either. So stop asking."

"Never occurred to me, to be honest," Tony put in unhelpfully, "Certainly not going to now, though. You'll rat me out at once to escape this torture."

Leroy had to smother a smile at that, trying to turn it into a glare instead.

"Alright," the police officer consented at last, not all together pleased, "That's all we have for now. Thanks for your cooperation son."

He didn't sound very sincere and Leroy gave him a look that told him to shove it more eloquently than any words (or gestures, come to that) could have done. The officer, ignoring him utterly, thanked Jack for his time and took his leave.

"Wouldn't have killed you to be polite, Leroy," Jack scolded gently, "They only want to help."

"They can do that by locking Harley up for the rest of his life," Leroy insisted stubbornly, "Not by trying to find the man that saved my life."

"You speak very highly of him," Jack noted curiously.

"He's the best man I've ever met," Leroy declared proudly, making Tony swell with pride, "I wanna be just like him when I grow up."

Tony's blush could have outshined the sun.

"Worse people to be," Jack allowed, "I'll never be able to repay him for returning my son to me –and not just because you can't tell me who the hell he is."

"I'll thank him one day," Leroy declared lifting his chin determinedly, "I'll wait forever if I have to."

"I'm sure you'll see him again someday," Jack placated, eyes sceptical, "You can thank him for the both of us."

"I will," Leroy nodded before changing the subject, "When can I go home?"

"Tomorrow, likely," Jack returned, "As long as your fever stays down."

"Can't wait," Leroy muttered reverently, "Hospitals are horrible."

"But a necessary evil," Jack rebutted, smiling, "Do you want anything?"

"Something besides hospital food to eat?" Leroy requested hopefully.

"I'll see what I can do," Jack consented indulgently.

Leroy turned to Tony once his father was gone.

"What happens now?"

"I don't know," Tony admitted, perching himself on the edge of Leroy's bed.

"Will you stay?" Leroy ventured quietly, "I mean... you won't leave, right?"

"I don't know," Tony disputed gently, using his free hand to play with Leroy's hair, "I still don't know how I got here, let along how long I'll get to stay."

Leroy bit his lip, considering that.

"I've been wanting to ask you," Leroy said at last, carefully, "How, exactly, did you get shot? You never did say."

Tony hesitated very slightly, remembering. There was a whole case to go with that story, of course, and details about the guy who'd done the actual shooting but Tony knew that wasn't what Leroy was asking. Turning his eyes back to the boy beneath him he smiled sadly.

"I was pushing you out of the way."

"Why?" a mere whisper.

"It would have killed you," Tony shrugged, "And I wasn't about to let you die."

"So you saved my life," Leroy summarised, "But sacrificed your own."

"You're more important than I am."

"Bullshit," Leroy swore adamantly, "You say I'm your boss. You're younger than I am, where you come from. Surely, then, it's  _my_  job to protect  _you_."

"It's not a one way street, Leroy," Tony chastised softly, "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Wouldn't even hesitate –didn't in fact."

"It just doesn't seem fair," Leroy protested, eyes watery, "You've saved my life then and you saved my life now; but where was I when  _you_  needed saving?"

"You saved me first, Leroy," Tony consoled honestly, "Never doubt that. I'd have burnt out or ended up in a gutter somewhere if not for you. I didn't give my life for you without thinking –you earned it. Every day. Just by being who you are."

"I don't want it," Leroy argued, a tear running rogue, "I didn't ask for it."

"Of course not," Tony agreed, brushing the dash of moisture away, "That's why it's yours."

"No one's ever done anything like this for me before," Leroy remarked absently, "Not even my dad. I... don't know what to say."

"A  _'thank you'_ wouldn't go amiss," Tony teased, trying to lighten the mood. Leroy, though, refused to go along with it.

"Thank you," he breathed, sincerely, "And I love you. You're the best friend I've ever had. The best person I've ever known. You're like... like a piece of clear blue sky."

Tony's eyes softened and, echoing Jack before him, he leant down to brush a kiss upon Leroy's brow.

"I love you too," he admitted and it wasn't hard at all –it was easy. The easiest thing Tony had ever done, by the sole fact that he meant it with everything he was, "I love  the man you are now and the one you'll one day become."

"I don't want you to stay here, though," Leroy sighed slowly, "Not if it means you have to give everything up first. You deserve to live, Tony. You deserve to be happy. You don't deserve to die."

"Very few people who die actually deserve it," Tony parried, knowing that from experience, "I don't mind."

It wasn't completely true... but it wasn't completely false either. He'd miss his old life, his old home, his old boss but... he'd have Leroy. It wasn't too bad of a consolation prize.

"Well I do," Leroy disputed, "I wish I knew how to let you go."

"It might not be possible," Tony returned, "If I'm dead, then there's not much you could do about it."

"I want to try," Leroy persisted, "Close your eyes and think of nothing."

Eyeing him doubtfully, Tony nonetheless obeyed the command and allowed his eyes to close. Sitting there comfortably, perched on the edge of the bed, Tony drifted a little into his own mind.

The smell of the hospital room was strongest. There was also the distant sound of voices, far away, chattering nonsensically. Focusing on his own breathing, Tony was aware for the first time of a pain in his chest. In his calm state, he wasn't concerned by it –merely curious. He made to raise a hand to it but his hands were too heavy to lift. His whole body felt too heavy to lift.

He opened his eyes.

 

*~*~*~*~*  
 _ **TBC...**_  
*~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: hospitalisation
> 
> Who caught the reference to the title? ^^


	5. Paradigm Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony wakes up. Things get weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late. I've had a heck of a week; you know, the sort of week where nothing seems to go right. And that was before I got into a car accident. I'm fine and everyone involved is fine but car accidents are rather stressful and the last thing on my mind has been updating this story, for which I apologise. The last chapter is here now, and hopefully the posting of it will herald a turning in my luck! The car accident was Bad Thing #3 and universe laws say I should be done now so I'm optimistic that it's all uphill from here.

_In which my whole world_  
 _Is so changed that it is never  
_ _The same world again_

_The ground shakes so hard_  
 _That the foundations, so firm,  
_ _Need to be rebuilt_

_And my heart, it knows_  
 _That nothing here will ever  
_ _Be the same again._

**Chapter Four: Paradigm Shift**

 

Tony was in a hospital room.

Beside him, monitoring his heart rate, a machine beeped steadily away. Tony blinked slowly and looked down at his hands. The left was exposed and hooked up to a drip. The right was wrapped around another.

Tony followed the hand to a wrist, the wrist to an arm, the arm to a body. Beside him, sleeping uncomfortably in a chair, was Gibbs: looking utterly worm but keeping a constant vigil by Tony's bedside, not releasing his hand even as he slept.

For a long time, Tony just stared at him.

What the hell had happened?

"Gibbs?" Tony called, a little hysterically, "Gibbs!"

"Wa –Tony?" Gibbs all but shot up in his seat. He stared at Tony for a moment, brimming with relief. Which turned abruptly into anger. "What the  _hell_  were you thinking? _Were_ you even thinking? If you didn't have a concussion, I'd head slap you so hard you–"

"Did you know me before we met?"

"What?" Gibbs managed gruffly, tired, angry and interrupted. A position Tony knew from experience that he didn't appreciate.

"Before we met," Tony clarified, "In Baltimore. Did you know me?"

Gibbs eyed him with something close to concern.

"How could I have known you before we met?"

"Did you meet me before I met you?" Tony tried again, "When you saw me at Baltimore, did you know who I was? Did you remember me?"

"Remember you?" Gibbs echoed, looking genuinely worried now, "Tony, you're not making any sense. I'm gonna get the doctor."

Gibbs was gone before Tony could press further, leaving him more confused than ever.

One moment, he'd been sitting by Leroy's bedside and the next he was in one himself, finding Gibbs sitting beside his. A switch that Tony wasn't altogether too pleased about.

Had the whole thing been a dream?

"Bit confused are we?" the doctor asked as he walked in, Gibbs hot on his heels, "That's normal. I'm doctor Anderson, by the way."

"Did I die?" Tony wondered as the doctor checked his stats.

"You're going to be just fine," Anderson assured, "Punctured a lung, broke three ribs, major concussion not to mention gained quite the assortment of bruises and scrapes, but you'll recover. Hurt like hell during the process, but recover nonetheless."

"That's not what I asked," Tony corrected, flinching as the doc shone a light into his eyes, "I mean... when I was first brought in. When the bullet first hit me. Did I die at all?"

Anderson frowned, moving away to check his chart.

"You stopped breathing for a moment," he replied at last, "But your heart never faltered. Do you remember who the president is?"

"Obama," Tony answered promptly, "And my name is Anthony Dominic DiNozzo. I work for the Naval Criminal Investigative Services under Leroy Jethro second-b-for-bastard Gibbs."

"Coherence intact then," Anderson allowed with a grin.

"How long have I been out?" Tony pressed.

"Just over two days now," Gibbs supplied, still watching Tony carefully.

Tony frowned, unsettled.

"How are you feeling?" Anderson asked intently, back to checking Tony over.

"I ache all over," Tony admitted, "My chest feels tight and my head hurts. I also fear for my sanity."

"How so?" Anderson inquired, ignoring Tony's wry tone.

"I... I think I... I missed... I had a very odd dream," Tony concluded at last.

"You were on some pretty hard medications," Anderson pointed out.

"But it wasn't crazy," Tony protested, "It was completely logical. I dreamt in sequence and I dreamt of places I've never been before... but maybe don't actually exist."

"Don't know what to tell you," Anderson shrugged easily, "You were highly medicated and more than a little out of it. Strange visions are normal. No white lights or long tunnels?"

"No," Tony huffed, feeling patronised.

"No worries then," Anderson grinned, "I'll be back to check on you later."

"I've completely lost it," Tony bemoaned, leaning back and frowning.

"It was a dream, DiNozzo," Gibbs retorted, "Was it really that bad?"

"It wasn't bad at all," Tony negated, "You were in it."

Gibbs raised a brow and, realizing how that could sound, Tony found himself blushing.

"Not like that!" he spluttered, "You were seven, for crying out loud!"

"Seven?" Gibbs repeated, dubiously.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, thoughtful, "Some jerk –Harley –had taken you to a Bloomsburg hotel. I helped you get home –hell of a job too. We had to take three different trains and a bus just to get back to Stillwater and by the time we got there you were so sick you couldn't even stand."

Gibbs watched Tony searchingly, brow furrowed. He looked about to speak when the door was wrenched open and the whirlwind that was Abby blew in.

"Tony!" she cried, launching herself at the bed, "I missed you! Are you alright? Never do that to me again!"

Tony laughed, drawing Abby into an enormous hug and promptly demanding she catch him up with everything he'd missed –something Abby did happily.

Leroy, for the moment, banished to the back of his mind.  
 

*~*~*~*~*

 

Three days later Tony was sick of the hospital and convinced he'd dreamed the whole escapade with Leroy up.

In the light of day (or, rather, the muted light of the hospital room) it all seemed too crazy to be real. He remembered being shot on one end of the Leroy Incident and woke up in a hospital room on the other. Didn't take a genius to deduce that everything in-between had been nonsense.

"When can I leave?" Tony begged Anderson shamelessly.

"Tomorrow," Anderson promised, "Have you anyone to stay with? You're still not in the best condition."

"I'll be fine," Tony dismissed, "I survived the plague."

"Which is why a collapsed lung is so serious for you," Anderson argued firmly.

"He'll be staying with me," Gibbs put in calmly.

"Excellent," Anderson cried happily, barrelling right past Tony's protestations, "Just be sure he doesn't develop a fever. No long runs, make sure he dresses warmly and wraps his chest tightly."

"How long will I be on desk duty?" Tony asked plaintively.

"Until Ducky clears you," Gibbs returned and Tony sulked, knowing exactly how pedantic Ducky was.

"Rats."

Abruptly, Gibbs grinned.

"Don't worry," he quipped lightly, running his hand lightly against the back of Tony's head, a mock head slap, "I promise to take  _real_  good care of ya."

Tony was doomed.

  
*~*~*~*~*

  
Secretly, Tony adored staying at Gibbs' place.

The man was a functional mute but when Tony was recovering from his latest escapade, he made himself so clearly understood that words were meaningless anyway.

Tony would find cream in the fridge, even though Gibbs hated cream. He'd find towels in the bathroom that were high in thread count. He'd find meals carefully prepared and his wounds delicately dressed even as Gibbs bitched and grouched and generally lived up to his second b.

This time, however, things seemed different.

It took Tony a day and a half to figure out what it was. Gibbs was still surly, still a grump, still boat obsessed and gruff. But now, he spent half his time finding reasons to touch him.

A hand on his shoulder. Fingers touching his. Thighs brushing in stairwells. Feet pressing together fleetingly under tables.

Tony couldn't figure it out and it was driving him mad.

Worse, highly medicated as he was he was having quite a bit of trouble hiding his rather... er...  _positive reactions_... to those touches. Which was completely unfair, because said medications should have made said reactions impossible –or at least less overt.

It all came to a crux the third day of Tony's stay. It was a day like any other really, except for one small (but crucial) difference: it was a Monday.

And Gibbs wasn't at work.

"Don't you have work today Boss?" Tony inquired as Gibbs wrapped his chest that morning, "I can take care of myself for a day."

"Why did you become a cop?"

Tony blinked but answered reflexively.

"The guns and the babes."

The headslap came right on cue, accompanied with a gently scolding look.

"DiNozzo."

Tony knew better to mess with that tone. And the bottom line was that he trusted Gibbs with everything he was and, more precious still, with everything he could be. So he did what came hardest to him –he told the truth.

"When I was in primary school," he began, looking fixedly at Gibbs' fingers as they wove around his chest and away from his eyes, "I had a friend. His name was Sam. He was two years older than me and managed to be cool without even trying. One of those guys everyone gravitated to –everyone loved. A total jock.

"He wanted to be a cop when he was older. Told me that he wanted to make a difference, that he wanted to protect others that couldn't protect themselves. He always noticed when I turned up to school covered in bruises no matter how carefully I hid them under my uniform. He used to tell me that I had to protect myself, if no one else would. That I'd only have a future if I believed I did."

"What happened to him?"

Tony grinned with black humour, because even Tim would have been able to tell that a story that began with the words  _'when I was in primary school'_ didn't end well.

"Dove into a creek without checking the water level," Tony answered, "Broke his neck. They say he died instantly. It was only later, at the autopsy, that they uncovered the abuse he'd gone through. His mother served life for it. And I remembered what he'd said –that I had to protect myself if no one else would. So I told my father that if he ever touched me again, I'd take photos and report him. He responded by sending me off to boarding school and disowning me."

"I knew I didn't like your father for a reason," Gibbs managed darkly, securing the bandage, "So you wanted to be a cop then?"

"It was always there, at the back of my mind," Tony admitted, "And when I couldn't go pro in football, I knew it was what I wanted to do."

"That easy, huh?" Gibbs huffed, amusedly, "Gonna return the favour?"

"Alright, I'll bite," Tony agreed, perking up, "Why'd you become a Marine?"

Gibbs paused for a moment, eyes suddenly very intense.

"When I was young," he began, "I knew a man who inspired me to be everything I could be. Have ya ever met anyone like that, Tony? Someone that you trust with everything you are? As a boy, I thought him perfect. He was brave, strong, determined –he saved my life, in fact. Sacrificed everything to do so. I became a Marine because I wanted to be everything he was. I wanted to make him proud and I knew he'd like that."

"Was he a Marine then?" Tony asked attentively, very aware that this was the most that Gibbs had ever divulged about his past. Half of him wanted to ask what gives but the other half cautioned him not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Nah," Gibbs dismissed easily, grinning that half smile of his, "Worked for some agency. I was seven. Forgot it the second he said it. Only now do I realize it was NCIS."

"Franks?" Tony guessed, "I didn't realize you knew him that young."

Gibbs gave him a very pointed look.

"I didn't."

It took Tony a very long moment to cotton on.

"What?" he managed blankly, brain freezing, "I mean... that is... I... what?"

Gibbs snorted and delivered a soft head slap, which cleared Tony's thoughts up nicely.

"I still have the jacket, ya know," he informed him, "Holed at somewhere at Stillwater."

"Oh... my... god..." Tony breathed, feeling a breath away from panicking, "What the hell? What the  _hell_? It was  _real_?  _What the hell_?"

He jerked to his feet, pacing so unevenly that he almost stumbled twice.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered, "Calm down."

" _Calm down_?" Tony echoed franticly, "You seriously telling me to calm down? You just told me that it was real, that I wasn't hopped up on pain killers –that I really did spend a day in the past with your seven year old self! And you want me to  _calm down_?"

"Yep."

"Fuck," Tony swore, "This is crazy. This is absolutely crazy. This isn't a Charles Dickens novel, Gibbs! People don't just randomly travel back through time! What the fuck happened?"

"Some things can't be explained," Gibbs returned, shrugging.

"Can't be explained?" Tony repeated, "That's all you've got?  _Some things can't be explained_? How are you taking this so calmly? Don't you want to know how this happened?"

"Glad it did," Gibbs asserted passively, "You saved my life, remember? As for calm –I freaked over it plenty when you were still in the hospital. Right after you woke up and started babbling about Bloomsburg. Trust me, I met my quota. It's your turn now."

"Goodie," Tony snapped, still frazzled but struggling to get himself under control "What the hell kind of bullet was I hit with anyway? Cause I gotta say, I've been shot before and  _this_  has never happened."

"We'll probably never know," Gibbs observed, getting to his feet at last, "You about done?"

Tony snorted, eyeing him wryly.

"Give me a moment."

Gibbs, surprisingly, did. Tony, forcefully taking some deep breaths, found that his curiosity was starting to overtake his confusion.

"What happened between us was thirty years ago, for you," Tony noted, "How well do you remember it?"

"It was a pretty major event," Gibbs allowed, "So very."

"How come you didn't recognise me then?" Tony wondered, "When we met at Baltimore?"

"You left right after the drugs had worn off," Gibbs explained, "By the time I was twelve, I was sure I'd imagined you or at least the part about you being incorporeal. It certainly didn't occur to me to connect  _you_  to a fabrication that might have not been a fabrication almost thirty years later. Though, in hindsight, it does explain the instant reaction I had towards you. I knew I could trust you the moment I saw you –knew I had to have you on my six because you'd give the job everything you had. Even for me, that was a quick assessment."

"You were awfully persistent," Tony remembered with a grin.

"Been stuck in the past a lot these last few days," Gibbs continued, "I still remember the rain. How cold it was. How sick I felt. I remember the bus, the trains... the hospital."

Something about the way Gibbs said that made Tony pause.

"What  _about_  the hospital?" he asked cautiously.

"I told you that you were the best person I'd ever met," Gibbs recalled, "And that I loved you. Remember what you said back?"

Feeling a dawning sense of horror, Tony looked away awkwardly and tried not to flinch under Gibbs' eyes.

"You said," Gibbs continued, as though Tony had actually answered him, "That you loved me –the man that I was as a seven year old and the man I am today."

Tony spoke then, couldn't stand not to.

"It won't change anything," he said without thinking, looking up to Gibbs anxiously, "It  _hasn't_  changed anything. It's not like I fell in love with you on purpose, you know. It just happened –so slowly that I didn't realize it until it already was. I know... I know nothing will ever come of it. You don't have to do anything."

"No," Gibbs muttered, softly, "You didn't want anything from me. You didn't ever ask. That's why you always had it."

The words sounded familiar but Tony was too preoccupied staring at Gibbs vacantly to figure out where he'd heard them. Gibbs, seeing this, grinned suddenly and took a step forward, putting himself directly in front of Tony.

"I knew when Kate died," Gibbs informed him, rather mater-of-factly, "Was torn in two she was dead but thanking every power I could name that it wasn't you."'

Gibbs was standing so close and Tony finally understood all the things he wasn't saying. Boldly, Tony closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together chastely. Gibbs, approvingly, wrapped both his arms around him and deepened the kiss at once, so that Tony was drowning in it. When they finally parted, the both of them were pleasantly dazed.

"Was furious when you took that bullet for me," Gibbs admitted, "It would kill me if you died Tony. It almost killed me the first time I lost someone I loved –I won't survive it again."

"We have a dangerous job, Gibbs," Tony pointed out tentatively, "There are no guarantees."

"I know that," Gibbs returned gruffly, "I'd just sleep easier if you wouldn't throw yourself in front of bullets."

"I'll take care to avoid them," Tony promised wryly, "But you can't say you wouldn't do the same for me."

Gibbs made a face, conceding the point.

"We'll just have to do our best," Tony observed, "Nothing more we can do. Can we get back to the kissing now?"

Gibbs huffed but obligingly pulled Tony back into a kiss. Tony sank into it happily, giving as good as he got and leaning into Gibbs' solid frame. This kiss, far from chaste, turned heated in minutes. Gibbs, letting out a growl that went right to Tony's cock, wrapped an arm firmly around Tony's middle.

And Tony broke their kiss with a sharp gasp of pain.

"Shit," Gibbs swore apologetically, "You're ribs."

"Screw my ribs," Tony dismissed furiously, "We've gone through enough angst –this is the part where we get to have hot gay sex, damn it."

Gibbs grinned, even as certain parts of his anatomy showed Tony just how much he approved of that idea.

"Tempting," Gibbs agreed, eyeing Tony in a way that made him feel warm all over, "But I won't hurt you."

"So we'll be careful," Tony stipulated, pressing against Gibbs teasingly.

"Nope."

"Rats."

Gibbs smiled and kissed away Tony's pout.

"It'll keep," he promised, "In the meantime, tell me everything you remember."

Reluctantly, Tony snuggled into Gibbs on the bed, and they spent the afternoon trying to figure out the strange phenomenon that they'd both experienced –albeit thirty years apart.

In Tony's mind it wasn't much of an ending. But then, with Gibbs stoking his back gently and pressing the stay kiss against his temple, Tony couldn't bring himself to mind. Sex was such an easy thing for him that maybe it would do him some good not to  rush right into it. So yeah, the heat simmering between them hadn't had a chance to spark but that was okay. Endings were overrated anyway.

Beginnings were so much better.

 

*~*~*~*~* __ **  
The End  
** *~*~*~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of questions weren't answered and, yes, this was intentional and not just my being lazy. Sometimes life is a mystery and I can't imagine Gibbs and Tony will ever understand what happened to them.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the story and a special thank you to all those who took the time to review. It was very much appreciated.


End file.
